


Things You Can't Touch

by JuliaJekyll



Series: Good Omens One Shots [6]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Agnes Nutter's Prophecies, Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Fluff, Light Angst, Lovesick Crowley (Good Omens), M/M, Mild Language, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-11-19
Packaged: 2021-02-13 10:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21492973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JuliaJekyll/pseuds/JuliaJekyll
Summary: Instead of leaving after Aziraphale finds Agnes Nutter's book in the back of the Bentley, Crowley follows him into the bookshop. Pining ensues.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Good Omens One Shots [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1544350
Comments: 18
Kudos: 135





	Things You Can't Touch

**Author's Note:**

> So I'm back on my bullshit, writing about pining ineffable lovers. Please enjoy my latest fluffy offering.

It was dark by the time Crowley parked the Bentley across from the bookshop and got out, slamming the door behind him a little harder than necessary. He was still a bit put out at having had to give that random girl a lift - couldn't she have watched where she was going? - but of course, he couldn't be  _ too _ annoyed, as he'd mostly done it for Aziraphale. He'd never been able to refuse his angel anything. 

_ There is nothing you could ever want that I wouldn't fall over myself to give you _ , he thought, watching Aziraphale shut the passenger door. Aziraphale's miraculous first aid - healing Bicycle Girl's broken forearm - hadn't escaped his notice, nor had the fact that the angel had been so eager to repair her bike that he'd overcorrected and given it gears. Crowley had teased him in the moment -  _ oh Lord, heal this bike  _ \- but it had just been to cover up the irrepressible adoration he'd been feeling. It usually was, when he teased Aziraphale. He could never really mean it; the angel's genuine goodwill and kindness were simply too much for him sometimes, in the best possible way. 

Potential for a further snarky comment drifted through his mind as he leaned against the Bentley's roof - something about the Velvet Underground, perhaps?  _ Bebop,  _ honestly - but he decided not to say it. Instead, he tried to figure out a way to get Aziraphale to invite him in. 

_ Satan, it sounds like I'm trying to shag him,  _ he thought. But really... wasn't he? Hadn't he been trying to shag Aziraphale, albeit indirectly, for the better part of six thousand years? 

He was so busy fumbling with the part of his brain that stored pickup lines that he barely noticed Aziraphale asking him about the book in the backseat. 

"Hm?" Crowley snapped to attention. "Well, it's not mine. I don't read books." This was not strictly true; while he wasn't the bookworm Aziraphale was, Crowley did occasionally read novels, especially the ones Aziraphale recommended, but he had an aesthetic to maintain.

"It must belong to the young lady you  _ hit with your car,"  _ Aziraphale said accusingly. 

Crowley waved a hand impatiently. "No harm, no foul, am I right? You even fixed her bicycle." 

He looked at Aziraphale, but the angel didn't seem to be listening anymore.instead, he was staring intently at the book in his hands, looking as though he'd just seen a ghost.

"Uh, angel?" Crowley asked. 

"What?" Aziraphale looked at him again. "Oh, yes, of course. Right. In a jiffy."

Crowley frowned in confusion. "You alright?" he asked.

"Perfectly, yes!" Aziraphale replied, eyes still fixed on the book. "Tip-top! Absolutely tickety-boo!"

"'Tickety-boo'?" Crowley repeated, just a little mockingly. 

Aziraphale began to back away from him, clutching the book as if it were a miracle in itself, heading toward his bookshop.

Abruptly, Crowley forgot to wonder what about the book had gotten Aziraphale so excited as he was suddenly overwhelmed with irrational panic. Oh, no. That was  _ not  _ how this night was going to end. 

He'd spent the entire day with Aziraphale, talking and driving and acting like bloody  _ friends,  _ and he was not keen for it to be over. Maybe it was something about the fact that they'd spent most of the day in such close proximity in the Bentley, maybe it was the hot, flushing memory of being nose to nose with the angel as he'd pressed him against the wall at the former hospital, maybe it was the fact that they'd spent more time together in the last ten years than they had in the entirety of the previous century. Whatever it was, Crowley would not,  _ could not _ let him go so easily. 

As though it had a mind of its own, his hand flashed out to grab the angel's arm. Aziraphale looked at him with wide, blinking blue eyes, as if Crowley's touch had pulled him out of a trance. "What is it, dear boy?" he asked with a tinge of impatience, still holding the book tightly against his chest. 

"Let me come in with you," Crowley said. He managed not to make it sound like  _ "don't leave me",  _ but only just. 

Aziraphale looked surprised for a second, then gave a brisk nod and said "Yes, very well. Come on," and began walking in the direction of the bookshop, rather more quickly than he normally would. Crowley followed. 

Aziraphale nearly let the door slam in Crowley’s face in his haste to get inside. Crowley stopped it from closing with his foot and crossed the threshold before shutting it behind him. Aziraphale was already fluttering around the kitchen, hands shaking slightly as he made cocoa. 

"Cocoa, dear?!" Aziraphale's voice was high-pitched and a little frantic. Crowley didn't answer him, knowing he'd asked more due to his keen instinct for politeness than because he thought Crowley might actually want to drink cocoa. While the angel moved around the kitchen, Crowley took a look at the book, which Aziraphale had placed on his desk. 

Squinting at the cover, Crowley read the title: "The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter". Hm. No wonder the angel was so excited. He loved books of prophecy, though Crowley couldn't imagine what about this one had sent his friend into such a frenzy. He sank onto the sofa, realizing that it would likely be a while before Aziraphale would speak to him again, feeling an absurd prickle of jealousy toward the innocent-looking green tome. 

Crowley gave a self-deprecating little smile. Jealous of a  _ book.  _ This was a new level of pathetic even for  _ his _ lovesick ass. 

Aziraphale carried his mug of cocoa to the desk, laser-focused on the book, apparently having forgotten that Crowley was there. Crowley indulged himself by looking at the angel's hands. He'd always loved those hands; warm and neat, careful and gentle. Crowley remembered the moment at the former hospital earlier that day, when Aziraphale had put one of those hands on his arm. 

_ Touch me again.  _ The thought overwhelmed him as he watched Aziraphale take a seat at the desk and put his glasses on.  _ Put those gorgeous hands all over me, angel. Touch anything you want. Anytime.  _

Aziraphale pulled on a pair of gloves, and Crowley gave a little roll of his eyes. How important  _ was  _ this stupid book, anyway, that the angel was literally giving it the white-glove treatment? 

_ Joke’s on you, book,  _ Crowley thought venomously.  _ At least he touched me with his bare hands.  _

Crowley shook his head.  _ Get a grip, Anthony,  _ he thought. He eyed the book again.  _ But I swear, if he starts kissing that book, I’m going to burn it.  _

But no, he wouldn’t. Because it was important to Aziraphale. 

Crowley sighed loudly and spread himself over the sofa. He thought about going to get some of Aziraphale’s booze for himself - the angel seemed too absorbed in the prophecies to notice what he was doing - but he couldn’t be bothered. Instead he simply watched as Aziraphale thumbed through the book, occasionally gasping out loud or muttering to himself. Crowley was loathe to distract him even as his hands itched to touch. It was not hard to tell that he wasn't going to get any more attention from Aziraphale this evening, but he still couldn't bring himself to get up and leave.

Eventually, bored and worried that Aziraphale might throw him out if he remembered that he was there, Crowley removed his jacket and sunglasses, kicked off his shoes, leaned his head back, and fell asleep.

* * *

_ Even Heaven can't give me a view like this,  _ Aziraphale thought, trying to fix Crowley's sleeping form in his memory. The demon was sprawled out on his sofa, his limbs askew in that curious way he had of taking up absolutely all of the available space and then some, his head slumping toward his shoulder.

Aziraphale smiled a little when he saw that, although Crowley had discarded his glasses, he was still wearing his massive wristwatch. His hands were folded atop his stomach, the tendons standing out in a way that made Aziraphale's mouth go dry. He'd always found Crowley's hands lovely, always wished he could touch them. 

Aziraphale flexed his own hands, which were still encased in his white gloves. It was unbelievable; he'd found it. The book he'd been searching for for centuries: Agnes Nutter's book of prophecies.

Surely there had to be a reason for that. It had to mean something that he'd found it _now, _when he knew the Apocalypse was close at hand. _Surely. _

Aziraphale stripped off the gloves. He knew where the Antichrist was, now, and with that knowledge, he might be able to help stop the world from ending. He might be able to save Crowley for once, instead of always relying on Crowley to save him. 

Of course, he couldn't tell him. Friend or not, beloved or not, Crowley was still a demon - a member of the other team, as it were. He'd just have to hope that he could stop the war, and in doing so, be able to stay here, on Earth, with Crowley, just a little longer. 

Every moment he had with him was valuable, and Aziraphale would do everything he could to make sure those moments kept coming. 

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoyed the fic? Leave some kudos, or better yet, a comment! Tell me what lines you liked, or what you think could happen next! Or just scream about how cute these two are, that's fine too.
> 
> Also, hit me up on Tumblr and tell me what else I should write: julia-writes-fanfic.tumblr.com


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